Ma Bell

(November 01, 2002)

"Hub."

"(grunt)" he grunted, palefaced in the sickly bluish glow of his computer monitor. He didn't look up. I stood in the doorway, phone in hand.

"I don't remember my parents' number," I intoned. In fact, I'd breezily picked up the phone and attempted dialing, only to realize, with a kind of Twilight Zone puzzlement, that I was drawing a complete blank. "69...8...?" I faltered now as Hub glanced up at me.

He opened his mouth to rattle off the number, just as I'd expected. "896..." he began, "...no, 96...um...8...?" I could see the look of disbelief creeping onto his face.

We fucking forgot my parents' phone number. That they've had for five years. We tossed digits at each other numbly.

"6987."

"6983.

"No, you're thinking 9863, that's my OLD phone number from high school." Jesus.

We actually had to press "Review" on the Caller ID and scroll through like ninety calls.

I called and talked to my mom. Hey, my parents are actually making progress on the house. I mean, it sounds like it maybe looks like a real house and not a construction site. Which is greatly improved over the LAST conversation I had with my mom (apparently so long ago that I've forgotten the freakin' phone number) which contained the following exchange:

"We put in the floors!"

"Great!"

"But they came back up."

"The...the floors came up? I don't think they're supposed to do that."

"Yeah (sigh)"

"I mean, you know...the best kinds of floors are the ones that stay...you know...down there on the floor..."

"Those bastards."

"Those bastards!"

Huh?

I didn't ask about the Amazing Levitating Floors this time, opting for less Vila-esque topics. So we discussed Hedwig ("I'm SO glad you're back doing theatre again!"), her paintings ("I sold China Girl. God I loved her"), my upcoming move ("What do you need? I have bowls!"), and booty calls ("If you sleep with someone too soon, he'll only call you for blowjobs").

Norman Rockwell moment, that. If this were olden days of yore, I could needlepoint something. "Avoidth The Blowjob, Heed Thine Mama."

I don't even know how the topic came up. NO, it wasn't about me. My mother knows how picky I am, and therefore how very few lovers I've had (not even into the double digits, a fact which makes Laura die laughing) but wouldn't it have been hysterical if I'd yelled, "MOM! I wish you'd have told me THAT back in high school! That explains SO MUCH..."

I didn't say it, but only because I didn't think of it 'til later. Damn, my lightning-fast wit must be dull today-- I'm so ashamed that I just was NOT ready with the blowjob comeback for my mom.

I decided I'm goin' to see her on Tuesday. Connecticut, ho. Yo.